


Sweet & Simple

by NamelesslyNightlock



Category: The Blacklist (US TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Hurt Samar, Kissing, Mutual Pining, Nervous Aram, Protective Aram
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 06:55:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17075516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NamelesslyNightlock/pseuds/NamelesslyNightlock
Summary: When Samar arrives forty minutes late and bleeding far too much to be healthy, Aram immediately throws his carefully constructed date plans out of the window. Her wellbeing, after all, is much more important than asking her to be his girlfriend.





	Sweet & Simple

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whimsicalwombat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whimsicalwombat/gifts).



> This was written as a present. I had lots of ideas but struggled to pick something, so I decided to stick what I know are a few of whimsy's favourite things into one place and hope for the best.  
>   
> I took a couple of ideas from [this prompt list](http://quietlyapocalyptic.tumblr.com/post/181031470459/captainleonardmccoy-steggyfanevents).  
>   
> I hope that you enjoy this fluffy one shot full of pining and hot chocolate!

Aram was stressed. He shouldn’t be- the food was in the oven, the table was laid, the wine was ready to go. He’d practiced what he was going to say enough times for it to be memorised, and there was nothing else he could do to affect the outcome.

Besides, it was only Samar. She had been his colleague for years, and his friend for almost as long. She’d been over for dinner so many times in the past, and she was certainly the person he was closest to, these days.

Yeah. It was only Samar.

Only the woman he’d been in love with for almost as long as he’d known her.

And she was over half an hour late.

The arm of the clock moved agonisingly slowly and yet far too quickly all at once, the minutes ticking by and moving further and further from the time Samar had agreed to arrive. Aram had been pacing for the last ten minutes, as a change from wringing his hands the twenty minutes before that.

God, but what if she’d realised what Aram was planning, and had decided not to come?

What if she so abhorred the idea of being more than friends that she never wanted anything to do with him again?

No, she wouldn’t do that. She wasn’t the sort of person who would run and hide. She would let Aram down face to face.

Right?

The sound of the door downstairs jerked Aram out of his increasingly depressed musings, and he was across the room in a single moment, buzzing her up with only a small glance at the screen.

She was here, and he—

He had a lot to do.

Flustered, Aram hurried to increase the temperature on the oven to ensure that the chicken and the vegetables wouldn’t just be warm, but piping hot and perfect for eating. His fingers stumbled over the matchbox but he managed to get the candles lit, and he gave the whole table one last glance over as a familiar knock sounded against the door. He opened it only about half a second later.

“Samar!” he exclaimed, out of breath despite having only moved a few yards. But the moment he caught sight of her, his smile dimmed.

She was a mess- and considering Aram had seen Samar after a fifty hour mission with no sleep or shower and had still thought her beautiful, the fact that he’d had _that_ thought should certainly say something.

The first thing he noticed was the bruise around her left eye. It was large and dark, and swollen enough that her eye was barely visible. Next he saw the slice down her arm, wrapped hastily with what looked like a strip from the khaki jacket she was so fond of, though blood was beginning to soak through the material. Her other hand was pressed down over it, hard, the pressure barely subduing the tremble in her fingers.

In the time it had taken Aram to look her over, Samar had begun to lean against the wall beside the door.

“Sorry I’m late,” she grimaced.

“You’re... sorry?” Aram asked, half in shock. “That you’re _late?”_

Shrugging slightly, she said, “Well, you don’t look particularly happy to see—“

“I’m not particularly happy that you’re bleeding,” he interrupted, causing her lips to twitch. It wasn’t a smile, she was clearly in too much pain for that- but she seemed to be amused. “Come on.”

Her fingers were like ice against his as he led her through the apartment and to the couch, refusing any further support. It might have been worrying, but the colour of her skin was all right, and Aram knew it was cold outside. The middle of December always was, and it had grown late while he waited.

His frantic hands moved pillows and shoved the throw to the side to make her more comfortable, and he was still fretting over her as she laid down, only stopping as she batted him away.

“I’m fine,” she said, and Aram shook his head.

“You’re _not_. What happened? I didn’t hear about a case.”

“Reddington wanted a favour.”

Aram’s expression hardened. “I’ll kill him.”

“No, you won’t,” Samar corrected.

“You’re right,” Aram allowed, not seeing the point of arguing when they both knew who would win, even in her injured state. “I won’t. I’ll make sure he _really_ regrets it, though.”

“I’m sure you’ll be very stern,” Samar said. “That’s something I’d like to see.”

“Not until you’re fixed up,” Aram replied. Then, frowning and already reaching for his phone, he said, “You should be in a hospital. I’ll call a cab.”

“No, don’t. I’ll go in the morning,” she said. “It’s late, and it’s Saturday. The ER will be packed, and that’s not what I want to deal with right now. I’m fine, Aram, I just need rest.”

“That’s a head wound,” Aram said hesitantly, not wanting to give in. “And that arm looks like it needs stitches.”

“It doesn’t, I’ve had enough to know.” She managed to hold his gaze, and although Aram disagreed with her assessment, he didn’t think she was actively lying.

“Okay,” he relented. “But you _have_ to promise me you’ll go in the morning.”

She smiled, but before she could say anything else, Aram went in for the kill.

“If you don’t, I’m going to call Liz.”

 _That_ caused Samar to let it go. Ever since Agnes had been born, Liz had started to mother _all_ of them- not in the same way of course, but enough that they’d all noticed. And while most of the time it was sweet, she could become downright scary at times. She could flick from pouting to glaring in half a second, and each method was equally as incredibly effective at getting any of them to look after themselves. Whether it was going home to sleep after a two-day case, or eating some salad after she’d seen someone take only bolognaise for lunch four days in a row, or putting a ban on coffee after the fifth cup with no food, she tended to get her way.

Aram grinned smugly, knowing he had won, and Samar sighed in defeat.

“Also, you have to let me patch you up again.”

She didn’t even try to argue that one, probably recognising that the shoddy job done with what Aram was now almost certain was her jacket was... well... shoddy.

The first aid kit was easily accessible, and he was back in moments. Thankfully, once he’d cleaned the blood from her arm, he saw that she was right- the cut was long but it wasn’t deep, and the bleeding had almost entirely stopped already. He cleaned and covered it and wrapped it up tightly – though not too tightly – and she sat silently through the whole thing, watching him work with a soft crease between her brows. At first, he wondered if she was annoyed that he had practically forced his help upon her, but she never complained, and it seemed removed from mere irritation. Maybe she just wasn’t used to people fussing over her like this.

 _That_ thought wasn’t much better.

He shoved it away and focused on healing, finished up the last twist to the bandage and handed her some paracetamol – the strongest thing he had on hand – and an icepack wrapped in a clean dishcloth for her face.

“Don’t put it directly on your eye,” he warned.

“I _know_ ,” she muttered good-naturedly after downing the tablet dry. “I’ve done this enough times.”

Unsurprisingly, that fact didn’t make Aram feel any better.

The icepack was a problem as well as a help, because while she needed it for the swelling, it wasn’t helping much with the other problem. Since her jacket had been used as a bandage, she must have been absolutely _frozen_ on her way to his apartment. Aram shuddered just thinking about it, and laid the heavy throw blanket over her, hoping to stave off some of the shivers.

But she still looked cold, even finally rugged up and properly cared for.

If only he had some—

Wait.

Grinning with the joy and pride of a sudden and fantastic idea, Aram immediately made preparations to leave. He checked the thermostat, making sure it was warm but not too warm, and then quickly donned his coat.

“I’ll be back in a few,” he said, messily wrapping his favourite woollen scarf around his neck. He paused just in the doorway, and headed back on a whim, passing her the TV remotes. “Feel free to watch Netflix or something, make yourself at home.”

Then, with final grin, he headed out.

He had some sweet, sweet elixir to procure.

~✽~✽~

Samar watched in confusion as Aram ran out of the door, the tail of his scarf trailing behind him in his rush. She had no clue what it was that he needed so suddenly, but if it warranted such immediate attention then it must have been important. So she settled in on the couch and prepared herself for a wait, and was glad, at least, for the quiet. She didn’t touch the remote that Aram left her, since she didn’t fancy spending the time flicking through and reading titles without actually watching anything, as always happened when she tried to find something on Netflix. Instead, she glanced around Aram’s apartment, taking in the familiar furniture. She could see Aram’s pet turtle in his tank, and smiled at the crunching noise coming from within. At least someone was getting their dinner.

Speaking of food- there was a faint smell of something burning coming from the kitchen, and she realised that in his haste to care for her injuries, Aram must have forgotten about whatever it was he’d been cooking for dinner. Briefly, she considered going to look, but she was so comfortable on the couch and only just starting to thaw that she couldn’t face moving. If the smoke alarm sounded, she’d check it out. For now, it was probably fine.

As the minutes passed and the icepack started to melt she began to zone out, snuggling down into the thick blanket Aram had given her, and she began to think back over the events of the evening. What she’d told Aram was the truth, if only incredibly simplified- Reddington had called in a favour, and while she had been successful, she had been injured during the ensuing scuffle.

It was embarrassing, really, that her very first thought upon finding herself injured was to go to Aram’s place. She’d forgotten all about the dinner until he’d buzzed her up without even wondering why she was there. In her hurt state, it had merely been the only place she’d wanted to be.

(She may be turning sappy, for which of course she blamed the pain meds even if it had only been paracetamol- but she was not yet so far gone as to admit that it wasn’t the comfort of the _place_ she craved.)

True to his word, Aram was back in under ten minutes. His cheeks were flushed and his nose was red from the cold, and there were little white flakes of snow in his hair that had not yet melted. He held a cardboard cup in each hand, bearing the logo of the coffee shop just down the street. His eyes were bright and he didn’t even take off his coat as he hurried over to her, excitement brimming through the grin on his face.

Whatever was in those cups smelled amazing, and she wriggled up slightly to get a better look.

“It’s hot chocolate,” he said earnestly. “I thought it might help you feel better.”

Hot chocolate. Yes, she could see that now- the cups, one half empty, were filled with warm liquid and topped with frothy milk and pink, mushy globs of sugar.

Her gaze flickered between the cup that was clearly meant for her and the earnest expression on Aram’s face. Caught between confusion at his sudden errand being something so mundane and the fact that he looked so damn adorable her mind was a jumbled mess, and there was only one solid comment she could think of to say.

“I don’t like marshmallows.”

Aram’s smile fell, replaced immediately by an expression of abject horror.

“What do you _mean_ you don’t like marshmallows?” Aram asked, aghast. There was a moment where Samar regretted it- he had been so excited by his idea, by his attempts to help. But before she could apologise, play it off, suck it up and drink the hot chocolate he had so kindly fetched for her regardless of how sickly sweet it was going to be, he was half-pouting and trying to hide a smile as his eyes glistened with playful amusement. “How is that even possible?” he asked. “They are like little clouds of sugary happiness—“

“It’s the sugary part that I object to,” she said. Then, after a short pause, she added- “And the texture.”

“That’s terrible,” Aram muttered, shaking his head. He put the unwanted cup down on the coffee table, and perched on the armrest by Samar’s elbow, not letting up on his Incredibly Disappointed Pout™ the entire time. “I don’t know what to do with this information,” he complained.

Samar shrugged, though she couldn’t help the smile. “I suppose now you’ve got two hot chocolates to drink.”

“I am sorry,” he said. “I should have known that you—“

“It’s all right,” she said. “It’s the thought that counts.”

As the words fell from her lips, she realised just how true they were. She’d always known what an amazingly caring person Aram was, but it had hardly ever been clearer than in that moment, when he was sitting there calmly chatting and managing to cheer her up even when the smell from the kitchen was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.

Maybe it was the way that she was suddenly feeling so warm, the blanket thick and heavy over her lap. Maybe it was because of the still steaming cup that remained on the table, that sweet scent both making her head feel pleasantly relaxed and yet incredibly awake.

Or maybe, it was simply Aram.

Aram, who had dropped everything to patch her up. Aram, who had run out into the cold to get her a hot chocolate, just because he thought it might help warm her.

Whatever it was, it had her feeling a strong desire to do something that she had wanted to do for weeks, or maybe months, but had never managed to pluck up enough courage to manage. And so slowly yet purposefully, Samar reached out, her fingers curling around the knot in his grey scarf and pulling it slightly loose.

“W-what are you doing?” Aram asked, his eyes wide, his lips parting slightly. Instead of answering verbally, she tugged on the scarf again, tilting up her chin to make her intentions clear. She was too low on the seat to do much else about it herself, but thankfully Aram caught on and leaned down- but still hesitant, still nervous, and it was Samar who made the final leap and pressed her lips to his.

In the beginning he was gentle, overly so, probably cautious of her injuries, but despite being touched by the sentiment that wasn’t quite what she wanted. She took her uninjured hand off the scarf in favour of burying her fingers in his hair, dragging him even further down so that he was forced to brace a hand against the back of the couch. He gasped at the movement and she took the opportunity, catching his lower lip between her own and gently tugging before letting go and leaning back with a smirk.

Aram still had his eyes closed, like he was trying to hold on to the moment. Samar was perfectly happy to wait, enjoying and _basking_ in the fact that _she_ was the cause of that contentment. It only took a few moments though before Aram was gazing at her again, caught somewhere between hope, happiness, and confusion.

“What was that?” he asked in a way which suggested he both needed and was terrified of the answer.

“Just something that I probably should have done a long time ago,” she said, but the attempted nonchalance was thrown off by the way her smirk turned soft of its own accord. His concern caused a bit of her own to bleed though, and her next words were almost as nervous as his. “Was that all right?”

“Yes,” Aram said, quiet and breathless. “That was more than all right.”

Leaning in closer, Aram looked like he wanted to kiss her again but paused, as if checking it was all right once again- and rather than doing it herself this time she allowed him that, giving a small nod instead. He was little less gentle than before, his free hand curling under her hair and resting against the back of her neck, avoiding touching any bruised skin but pulling her close nonetheless. And oh, when his lips touched hers again – this time by his own active choice – Samar sighed against him, their mouths sliding together languidly like it wasn’t only their second time, like it was something they had always known how to do. It was comfortable but also thrilling, tingles skating over every nerve, the taste of chocolate and sugar dancing across her tongue. She didn’t want it to end, and as Aram pulled back, Samar couldn’t help but press one last peck against his lips.

In the past, when she had wistfully pictured this moment, Samar had always imagined that it would be followed by something heated, and that they would immortalise their actions with promises and declarations. Instead of another kiss though, or even further words, they just looked at each other, processing the change in the dynamic. They didn’t need anything else to prove their own affection, and the simple, sweet acknowledgement was more perfect that Samar could have ever dreamed. But as her racing heart began to slow and the world around them slotted back into place, she remembered that there really was something else that should be holding their attention.

“Aram?” she asked. And despite what she was about to say, she couldn’t help but smile at the sappy grin that crossed his face.

“What?”

“I think the kitchen’s on fire.”

For the third time that night, Samar watched as one of Aram’s bright smiles disintegrated into pure horror, and she had to hold in a laugh as he almost crashed to the ground in his hurry to climb off the couch. But he managed to (mostly) keep his feet, and scampered out of the living room.

Samar, curious, decided to follow. She winced as she stood, and had to be careful to keep her arm still, but she managed. Thankfully, she’d warmed enough that she no longer needed the blanket, as she wouldn’t be able to hold it in place. So she left it behind as she made her way across the room, and paused in the entryway to the dining table and kitchen.

The first thing she noticed was the table itself. It looked like it was set for a romantic dinner, not just a meal between friends. The plates were on either side of a corner, so that they’d be able to look at each other without awkwardly turning, and also not separated by the width of the entire table. The table itself was decorated by candles, which—

Which had burned down almost entirely, leaving large puddles of hot wax melted across the wooden surface.

It might have made her sympathetic, but the smoke and the _smell_ seeping from the oven door claimed every speck of her concern from the moment she took note of it.

“Oh dear,” Aram said simply. He immediately worked on turning the oven off, but didn’t bother with a fire extinguisher- it seemed that the food was simply very, _very_ overcooked, and not actually in flames.

But... despite her sympathy and the distraction, Samar wasn’t overly concerned with the ruined meal. “Aram...”

“Lie back down,” Aram said, turning to her immediately as if he’d only just noticed her presence, his hands hovering over her shoulders like he wanted to push her back into the living room but was too afraid of hurting her to do so. It was sweet, and she might have smiled if she wasn’t still stuck on the one thought.

“Was this meant to be a date?” Samar asked. She knew her voice sounded thick.

“I was going to ask you out tonight,” Aram admitted. The words were stated firmly, though his true feelings were given away by the tiny sliver of nervousness shining behind his eyes.

Samar was both touched and stricken. “I ruined your plans,” she realised.

“Hardly,” Aram snorted. “I couldn’t exactly have wined and dined you when you were bleeding all over the floor. And it would have been ridiculous to sit here and eat the food by myself when you were in the other room.” Then he caught her eyes, and his smile grew, not only turning bright but into something incredibly tender. “It might not have turned out the way I wanted, but I still think it went pretty well. Don’t you?”

Not wanting to be flippant, Samar actually thought about it.

She was still in pain, Aram’s table was ruined and covered in wax, they were probably going to have to order Thai or something since the chicken was burned to a crisp, and her hot chocolate was going cold on the coffee table, the mushy marshmallows still spinning slowly on top.

By anyone else’s standards, the night had been a complete and utter disaster – and yet, it was one of the best nights of Samar’s life.

“Yes,” she said, hooking her fingers back through Aram’s scarf and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I do.”


End file.
